


beaver tails and broken ankles

by crimsvn



Series: crimsvn's five days of dnf-mas [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Ice Skating, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Strangers to Lovers, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsvn/pseuds/crimsvn
Summary: Every January Clay would travel up to Canada for two weeks for the winter activities Florida couldn't provide—it had been family tradition, and he aimed to maintain it.And after years of doing so, Clay had seen many weird things—and while this was not the strangest thing he'd ever witnessed on vacation, he couldn't help but wonder why in the world someone would lay down like they were accepting death in the middle of the Rideau Canal.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: crimsvn's five days of dnf-mas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067309
Comments: 7
Kudos: 224





	beaver tails and broken ankles

**Author's Note:**

> ik it's set in january but shhh its still winter themed so its ok

As a Floridian, Clay never imagined ice skating to become one of his favourite things.

Of course, this could be attributed to the fact that he, along with his family, travelled up to Canada every year to do general "winter activities" you couldn't accomplish with Florida's weather, but nevertheless, Clay found he loved skating. And after years, he had gotten pretty decent at it, too.

Clay had long since forgone travelling with his family, and yet he still maintained the tradition of staying in Ottawa for two weeks over the winter. Today, only five days in, he had decided to go skating on the Rideau Canal for the second time during his trip.

Thankfully it was a nice, sunny day, and there was no wind nipping at his ears and nose, the pleasant weather only succeeding in making Clay look forward to the day out all the more. 

As he ties up his skates, watching as families and couples skate by, he can't help but notice the individual laying in a starfish position to the opposite side of the canal as Clay. The person looks like they're breathing, luckily—it seemed frustration had gotten to them, is what Clay guessed based off the gloved fist that softly pounded on the ice and the wave of dismissal any time someone showed concern for them. Clay has to suppress a laugh. He had seen worse and weirder things during his visits to Canada, but this was just amusing.

When Clay is ready to start skating down the length of the canal, he faces a dilemma—does he go offer his help to the stranger and possibly get waved off like everyone else that had approached them, or does he just continue on his merry way and hope everything gets sorted out eventually?

His moral compass gets the best of him, and Clay finds himself skating his way to the figure, weaving through passerby skaters across the canal. He stops and hovers over the person, who is staring vacantly up at the sky from under their neck warmer and toque. They don't seem to notice Clay right away.

"You alright there? It's not usually etiquette to lie down on a skating rink," Clay quips.

"I'm fine," the person—a man, by the sounds of it—grumbles. "'Just hate skating, is all."

"And lying here is going to solve that?" Clay questions. It _was_ a curious thing, really.

The man finally sits up, angling his head to peer up at Clay. "No, it's not, unfortunately. My friends just left me to go get Beaver Tails and now I'm at a loss. What the fuck is a "Beaver Tail" anyways?"

Clay notices an accent, an English one, and is able to _definitely_ pin that the stranger wasn't from around here, if not only judging by his lack of knowledge of Beaver Tails. Clay didn't blame him, though—if he hadn't been coming to Canada for years now, himself, he wouldn't know what they were either. "It's a pastry with a shit-ton of cinnamon sugar on it. Pure diabetes, if you ask me, but totally worth it," Clay explains. "Why didn't you go get one?"

"Didn't know what they were." The stranger shrugs. "Besides, I couldn't even skate over to the stand with them if I tried. "Come skating with us on the canal," my friends said. "It'll be fun," they said."

Clay chuckles. He offers out a hand to help the stranger up, but he refuses. 

"I'll just fall back on my ass again. May as well just stay down here," the man excuses.

"And wait for what? The ice to melt?" Clay snorts. "You know you're going to have to get up eventually if you ever want to get those skates off. You can't leave the canal from this side."

"Bury me with them, see if I care," the stranger retorts. 

"I'm not sure that that's the attitude you want about this," Clay remarks. "Look, how about I'll teach you how to skate, then _maybe_ I'll buy you a Beaver Tail. How's that sound?"

The stranger raises an eyebrow. "Why would _you_ buy it for helping _me?"_

Clay puts his hands on his hips, mirroring the man's expression. "You're gonna say no to free food?"

The man scoffs. "Of course not. I was just wondering."

Clay holds out his hand again, this time the stranger accepting the help to pull him back up to his feet. He _does_ wobble and nearly fall over as he had predicted, but with Clay's help, the man stays upwards.

"Goddamn, you are _tall,"_ the stranger comments, whilst holding onto Clay very tightly. Clay laughs, but says nothing in return. "So how does this skating thing work?"

"Have you ever been skiing?" Clay asks. The stranger nods, and Clay continues. "Alright then, that helps. It's the same motion, the way you push with your feet when you're on flat land. Skating is just a matter of balancing on blades, rather than a flat surface, is all. And don't bend your ankles like that, you'll hurt yourself."

The man instantly takes the critique to heart, doing his best to push his ankles outward, though it does throw him off balance again. It's no matter, however, as Clay is there to catch him. It's a weirdly intimate practice for two complete strangers, but neither complains as Clay holds the man's waist as he attempts to push forward, just as Clay had advised. The man slowly starts to get the hang of it, albeit stumbling almost every other step.

They stop after maybe ten minutes, when the stranger starts to complain about aching feet, Clay completely understanding. He used to hate skating for the reason of getting sore feet all too easily, before he actually found a good pair of skates. Clay directs them towards the appropriate snowbank, where the stairs to get off the canal were, that lead towards a semi-circle of food trucks. The man graciously plops himself down on the nearest step, hasty to begin untying his laces. Clay sits beside him, but doesn't do the same. He still planned on skating a bit longer.

"I'll buy myself a Beaver Tail, but thanks for helping me learn to skate anyways," the stranger says. "I'm George, by the way."

"Dream," he replies. It was amazing what Clay could do with a childhood nickname and an impulse decision. He is immediately remorseful in giving George a fake name, but so be it. The deed was done, regrettably so. 

"Dream?" George repeats. "That's an odd name."

Clay grins. "Tell you what, if we meet again, _then_ I'll tell you my real name," he challenges. It was a sort of cruel game, maybe, but the chances of Clay meeting George again after they would inevitably part ways was slim to none. _And_ it was a fair excuse to repair his slip-up.

George rolls his eyes, bumping Clay's shoulder. "Okay, you mysterious Canadian stranger."

"I'm actually not Canadian," Clay confesses. "I'm from Florida. I just travel up here every year during the winter."

George blinks at him, though, Clay hasn't seen anything other than George's eyes for the short time they had known each other. "You willing go _towards_ the cold during winter? You are insane."

Clay shrugs. "It started as a family thing, but I enjoyed it so much that I keep coming back, even without them. But speaking of—where are your friends, have you seen them anywhere?"

George whirls around to scan the area by the food trucks, appearing rather concentrating until he exclaims a quiet _aha!,_ presumably having spotted his friends. He turns back to Clay, nodding. "Now I have. I'd hate to leave you, but I should probably go see them. You can come if you'd like?"

Clay shakes his head. "Nah, I'm alright. I wanted to go skate some more, anyways."

"Without the difficulty that is me?" George teases.

"Without the difficulty that is you," Dream agrees, laughing. "It was nice meeting you, George."

"It was nice meeting you, too, Dream," George says. "Hopefully we meet again so that I can learn your real name, _Florida man."_

Clay stands, pushing back out onto the ice as George takes a step back further up the stairs. "I guess we'll have to see."

Clay watches as George retreats to what he assumes is his group of friends before setting off down the canal, at a friendlier pace for himself. Don't get him wrong—it had been nice to help George, but Clay also wanted his own time and speed to skate. It had been the entire purpose for his visit to the Rideau. He skates until it starts to near sundown.

By the time he returns to his AirBNB, it's already dark outside, the stars shining bright as a cause of the day's cloudless sky. Clay throws together whatever he food he grabs from the fridge and pantry, not in any particular mood for any meal. He eats, plans other activities to do over the course of his stay, and heads to bed.

As expected, Clay doesn't see George for the remainder of the two weeks. In fact, he mostly forgets about George by the time he's going through airport security, getting ready for his flight home. Of course, first he had a layover in Toronto, but _then_ he'd be on his way home, back to Florida and warmer weather.

Clay is in line for Tim Horton's (which in hindsight had been a bad idea since the line was _always_ long no matter the hour) when he hears his name—well, his fake name—being called out by a vaguely familiar voice. There was only one person who would address him by that, the _one_ person he had promised to reveal his real name to if they ever met again. Oh, how that plan had backfired.

Clay abandons the line to find the source of the voice, only then having realized that he had never properly seen George's face. He surveys the airport just a tad confused when his name is called again. He spins around to see a brunet waving him over from not too far away, nodding and smiling as Clay spots him, pointing to himself to confirm that he was truly who the brunet was gesturing to. Clay stalks over to him, glad to have been rid of the burden that had been his suitcase.

Their height different is much less noticeable now, without skates and George's weak ankles being obstacles for measurement, but Clay still towers over him—though it isn't the height that Clay is the most observant about, however more so reminiscing in the fact that he could see George's entire face now, which was rather attractive. Not that he wasn't already a fan of George's personality, as rude as it had come off at times.

"Glad we got to meet again," George greets.

"Why, so that you could find out my real name?" Clay asks.

"No, because you kind of taught me how to skate and I wanted to thank you again," George deadpans. "Obviously because I wanted to know your real name. And _maybe_ I thought you were cute."

 _Cute. He thinks you're cute, too,_ Clay celebrates internally, before introducing himself. "Clay."

George frowns. "Clay?"

"Clay, that's my name," he amends. "Anticlimactic, I know. I just, uh. Happened to panic the other day."

George's face splits into a wide smile, laughter bubbling up his throat. "While Dream is a much cooler name, I have to admit that the mystery _did_ have me hoping I would see you again. You achieved that much."

"Well that's good enough for me," Clay says. "I didn't expect to see you again, if I'm being honest. Especially not at the airport, of all places. Guess we're leaving on the same day."

"Guess so," George concurs. "But, um. I won't keep you for long. I'm sure you have places to be as much as I do. Missing flights sucks major ass, especially when it's going overseas. I have a chronic issue with sleeping in."

Clay tsks, shaking his head disapprovingly. "That's like the one thing you _shouldn't_ do if you're planning on travelling anywhere, George. I can't believe you."

"I'll make sure to take your criticisms to heart, random stranger from Florida. Really means a lot to me," George says dryly. 

Clay holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Look, man, I'm just saying."

 _"I'm just saying,"_ George mimics in a poor American accent. "The skating pity was sufficient, thank you very much. I've gotten enough shit for it from everyone else in my life. And for the record, it was two years ago, so I've learned my lesson."

"Preface with that next time, then!" Clay protests, just as the two side step to get out of passing travellers' way. Clay hadn't realized they had been standing in the way, too engrossed in conversation.

George readjusts the straps of his backpack, scowling at Clay. "Who said anything about next time?"

"Wow, alright." Clay pouts. "It was my name, wasn't it?"

"Damn right it is. George and _Clay?"_ George gags as if the name caused him personal offence. "Disgusting, really. You think that would even be _worth_ trying to make work? No chance. George and _Dream,_ on the other hand..."

"As if I'd legally change my name for someone who can't skate," Clay teases.

"Low blow," George says, narrowing his eyes at Clay. "Tell you what, since I have to go—if we end up meeting a _third_ time, I'll consider giving you my number."

Clay had to admire not only George's boldness, but the way he had also been able to read Clay so well despite the hostile-sounding words of their bickering. Clay folds his arms over his chest. "And who said anything about a third time?"

"You can't use my line," George grumbles. 

Clay huffs out a short laugh. "I'm kidding. But what if there _is_ no next time?"

George hums. "Then I guess it wasn't meant to be. We can see if fate is on our side."

"You are an evil man."

"And we both have flights to catch," George says matter-of-factly, shrugging a shoulder. "Didn't realize we were stating the obvious, now."

"You're very funny, has anyone ever told you that?" Clay remarks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

George lifts his chin in a vaguely challenging way, eyeing up Clay, but fortunately Clay can tell he isn't being serious. "Plenty have, you jerk. Cower in my greatness as I take off, praying that I never see you again, asshole."

Clay has to bite his lip to keep from bursting out laughing, all for the sake of maintaining the act as he gave a mock salute, and they went their separate ways. Clay checks his watch to see if he still had time to grab something to eat, but funnily enough, time had seemed to pass like it was nothing when he had been talking to George.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said about the trip home. The two flights and taxi ride took what felt like ages, and by the time Clay had finally gotten home, he was just about near ready to collapse. The only thing he couldn't complain about was the lack of time difference between Ottawa and Orlando. Clay couldn't imagine moving forward five hours like George would have to. 

But after a good night's rest and some severe procrastination concerning his unpacking, Clay falls easily back into routine, over time nearly forgetting about George entirely. His encounters with the brit had been fun when they had happened, but having the expectation set in Clay's mind that he would never see the man again—as coincidental as their second encounter was—did not make it difficult to brush it away as a funny memory, and a future anecdote. 

Of course, though, when they end up meeting again a year later at the same pit stop on the canal, this time George far away from any pair of skates, and Clay finally gets George's contact in his phone, Clay can't help but remember something George had mentioned at the airport about fate—as, _clearly,_ it had worked out in their favour.

**Author's Note:**

> i used to write a lot of reddie & stony on another ao3 account and i feel like i have way too much of those characterizations/dynamics in my dnf works LOL,, and if you know you can tell exactly who ended up being who
> 
> (++ here's my [tumblr](https://criimsvn.tumblr.com/)! it's a bit empty but i'm working on it!)


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